


questionable choices

by Fatale (femme)



Series: happy malec ficlets [1]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-15 15:33:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13034172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/femme/pseuds/Fatale
Summary: Alec doesn't really understand fashion and sometimes he feels like he understands Magnus even less.





	questionable choices

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't going to post anything else, but this was already written, so.

 

**“Fashion is a form of ugliness so intolerable that we have to alter it every six months.” ― Oscar Wilde**

 

 

Alec wakes up gradually, morning light filtering through his closed eyelids. It's a small luxury he's allowed himself since staying with Magnus. Eventually, the smell of coffee and bacon convinces him to get up, though. He swings his feet over the side of the bed and his foot hits a hard corner of something from underneath it.

Alec bends down and pulls a small black shoebox out and sets it next to him. Curious, he opens the box.

He doesn't know what he's seeing at first. They're photographs, seemingly all of Magnus, but Magnus has shown him his photo collection, from new newly developed Polaroids to tintypes.

Alec has a vague sense of _I shouldn't be doing this_ , is actually grabbing the lid to put the box back where he found it, when a flash of pink catches his eye. Alec shoves a stack of photos aside and grabs the snapshot. It's Magnus, with neon pink eyeshadow, a blue jean jacket and matching ripped acid-wash jeans. His fingerless black gloves complete the ensemble. Alec desperately grabs another photograph and another, and--

The bedroom door swings open. "Alexan--" Magnus says, distracted, and looks up. His eyes flit from Alec, to the open box on the bed, to the photographs, and Alec has seen Magnus fight for his life in battle, has seen Magnus desperately throwing himself into the line of fire to protect those he loves, but he has never seen Magnus move this fast.

Magnus flings himself across the room, landing on the bed in a graceless sprawl of limbs. He scrabbles for the box, but Alec snatches it out of reach. Magnus groans and lets his face fall into the rumpled sheets.

"You hate acid-washed jeans," Alec says nonsensically. He feels hysterical laughter bubbling in his chest. Pink eyeshadow, permed hair.

"I assure you, it was the height of fashion in 1984," Magnus says with great dignity, face still buried in the bed.

Alec's lips tremble with the effort of keeping his laughter contained. "Oh, yeah? What about this?" he asks, holding up a small Polaroid. In it, Magnus is sporting a magnificent afro and what Alec can only describe as a silver onesie.

Magnus looks up, flushes. "How dare you? That jumpsuit was _Halston couture_."

Alec snorts.

Magnus winces, grabs a few pictures and scans through them. Alec is pretty sure Magnus had box braids in one of them.

"The problem with being on the cutting edge of fashion is sometimes fashion tends to go overboard. And some of the fashion is a bit more palatable to modern sensibilities than others." He hands Alec a photo of himself in a leather coat, green spiked Mohawk, and heavy eyeliner. It's not that different from his current look, but Magnus looks harder, angry, leather jacket dotted with safety pins and patches. Alec feels his mouth go dry.

Magnus' voice goes wistful, "Sometimes I miss those days. Dressing up and going out was such a great ceremony. No one really does that anymore."

"Izzy does," Alec points out. At least he assumes she does; he's waited for her to get ready enough times that he assumes a marching band and lighting a torch must be part of that ceremony. It's the only thing that explains what she does with the hours.

Magnus smiles down at his photos, grabs another handful. "Not all of us can roll out of bed and look fabulous like you, Alexander."

Alec flushes at the compliment. After all this time with Magnus, sometimes he still can't believe that Magnus chose him. Wants him. He surveys the pictures spread out over the bed, the evidence of the lives Magnus has lived, all the interesting people he's met, and he still thinks Alec is something extraordinary. 

Magnus holds up another photo. In it, his hair is tipped in frosty blonde and he's wearing a floral button-up shirt with small round purple glasses perched on the tip of his nose. "What about this?" He laughs deprecatingly. "The 90s was a cruel mistress to us all."

Alec pushes his hand down, leans over and kisses Magnus, pictures forgotten. It doesn't matter where Magnus has been and what questionable fashion choices he's made. All that matters is that he's here with Alec now. "Actually, I prefer you this way," Alec says, and kisses him again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is actually 1000x funnier if you could see the pictures i was working from.


End file.
